


holding a name upon parted lips

by TR33G1RL



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, It's whatever ship you want, Just whoever, M/M, Male Solo, Masturbation, Other, pillow humping, roci is horny and needs to.... yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 13:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20639810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TR33G1RL/pseuds/TR33G1RL
Summary: Rosinante has been busy for so long and hasn't had time to take care of himself in the most primal of ways. Now, he finally has the chance, and he's not going to let it go to waste. His mind has filled with thoughts of a certain person and he can't hold back anymore.





	holding a name upon parted lips

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TwoBladeBae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwoBladeBae/gifts).

> Thank you to my friend RaeTheSaltyBae for showing me the light on how handsome Rosinante is.

A weary sigh leaves Rosinante’s lips as he locks the door to his bedroom. It’s moments like these that he’s glad marines live on the base; he really isn’t in a position to take a long walk to find some privacy. Rosinante has been working everyday for the past two weeks, and he desperately needs this night to himself. His eyes have bags under them by now. He’s sure of this, but he hasn’t had the time to check in a mirror. He’s almost certain he looks a mess, every part a hollow husk desperately in need of something other than work. And he _ knows _ what he needs that isn’t work. He is _ well aware _ of what he needs.

Though he aches all over, his body craves something besides sleep. Sleep can wait. It can wait until Rosinante has taken care of the effects his mind is having on his body. And why is his mind, which desperately needs sleep after so many hours of work, choosing to postpone such a necessary act? Because his mind is plagued with thoughts, so many thoughts, of hands and mouths and skin and sweat and moans and gasps and _ oh, god, yes-! _

The thoughts had started about a week prior, and at first, they had just been thoughts to get through the day. Little images and scenes that only lasted a few seconds that Rosinante would allow himself to get through the day. Then, as the days went on, each feeling longer than the last, the pretty, dirty thoughts became promises to himself, vows that Rosinante would allow himself to picture the scene in full as he takes his cock in hand and works himself to completion. Oh, but the thoughts he’s had! The thoughts that he’s having_ at this moment! _ Hands holding tight and spreading thighs open, and mouths leaving vibrant markings on necks, and legs squeezing against hips, and nails scratching down backs, and fingers toying with pert nipples and more and more and _ more. _

A low, strangled noise is pulled from Rosinante’s throat, the sound of a creature deprived. He leans his back against the door, his head hitting the metal with a force that still isn’t enough to knock those lewd thoughts from his head. “Damn it,” He mutters, the sound breathless and heavy all at once as his heated breath floats into the cool air of his room. Heat is stirring in his lower abdomen once again, the latest pulses of arousal in what had been several days of sustained lust and desire. Those thoughts - those damned perfect thoughts - won’t go away! 

But… But now Rosinante is in the perfect place to let those thoughts take over and control his body, let the pretty scenes play out in his head as his body finally works out the pressure that encompasses his entire being. Rosinante’s eyes go wide, his pupils dilating as he realizes that he finally - _ finally _\- has the opportunity to work this out, to get this out of his system. 

God, but now he’s even more excited, his mind and body both realizing at the same time that after a week of being denied, of going unserviced, that Rosinante can finally take care of his baser needs and make himself cum.

Rosinante’s coat is stripped off and the commander lets it fall to the ground with no resistance as he strides over to his bed, which calls to him like a siren in the fog. And the imagination is a damned thing, isn’t it? Because Rosinante can picture a lover waiting for him, sitting on the edge of his bed with their posture so confident and their piercing gaze. They raise a hand and beckon him forward and, like a crazed man from dehydration, he follows the beautiful mirage’s command, his movements slow and trudging as if he were a zombie whose only goal was to be consumed his partner whole, rather than consume them. They only let out a laugh at his desire-hazed expression, a low, lustful sound that makes Rosinante’s heart beat wildly against his ribcage, a beast ready to be freed. He considers himself lucky that it doesn’t break from how hard it’s beating. He stumbles ever forward, captured by the siren song of his ‘lover’s’ laugh.

Ah, but a lover is not to be.

A low, throaty sigh falls from Rosinante’s parted lips as he finally reaches the bed, his dear, lovely mirage disappearing as he closes the distance to his mattress. Though he knows that the illusion was part of his overactive imagination, he can’t help but feel a twinge of regret that the false lover wasn’t real. How he craves their hands, their lips, their eyes, their voice… Oh, his cravings grow stronger each and every achingly long day. He might fall prey to his temptations before and, bottle of rum in hand, make a very confessing phone call in the hours between night and morning. Rosinante simply hopes he can gather the strength to make said call sober before he makes in other, less favorable conditions.

He works the buttons of his shirt undone before shrugging it off of his shoulders and letting it drop to the ground like a leaf fallen in battle to the late autumn winds. The late-night-cool air of his room wraps around his body, a ghost of a form against his chest. Rosinante nearly swears at the cold touch that raises goosebumps on his skin and makes the buds on his chest pebble, but swearing at the wind would be a waste of time, and there’s something else that he would much rather be doing.

The belt falls to the ground next, a heavy _ thunk _ of metal against wood floorboards. The weight of it is finally gone and it’s only when the feeling of something heavy on his hips is gone that Rosinante realizes that he’s only been held together by his belt for the past several days. The only thing that has been keeping him from falling apart and taking his pleasure in a bathroom stall at the top of every hour is his belt and the fantasy of a lover taking him by the hips and dragging him close. While his belt was still on, he could pretend that his lover was at his back, their fingers hooked through his belt loops as they watched Rosinante go about his day. While his belt was still on, Rosinante could hold himself together.

But now… Now his belt is off, and he can feel the desire overcoming his composure. 

And it shows, too, in the way Rosinante’s body slumps forward and a warm flush washes over his body, bringing with it a pink tinge that covers his cheeks and upper chest. A shiver shakes his whole body, making a noise that’s too soft, too faint to be a gasp escape his lips. Rosinante is slowly breaking like a stone under pressure, and he knows that the process of his shattering will only speed up at a rapid pace. 

He moves to rest one knee on the edge of the bed, his fingers already unsteady with lust as he works on the button and zipper of his pants. His thumbs dip under the hem of the white fabric before Rosinante begin slowly working the pants down. Slowly, because his hands are shaking with the restraint of trying to hold the ceramic shards of himself together long enough to get undressed. The fabric is heavy and clings to his form like a second skin and it takes a bit more focus than it should to calm his hands enough to have the strength to push the fabric down to his thighs.

With his mind so foggy with love-born lust, Rosinante has forgotten to take off his shoes and when he realizes this, a low huff of laughter falling from his faintly smiling lips. Ah, how like him to forget something so important in the face of his own imagination. His hands leave his pants to move to his boots, where his long, calloused fingers pull at the laces with messy, uncoordinated movements. It feels like it takes too long before the shoes are finally loosened enough that Rosinante can tug them and his socks off and toss them aside, uncaring of where they land. He can always deal with it in the morning.

Rosinante’s hands move back to his pants and begin to slide the heavy fabric down his thighs, peeling the tight pants away from his body. His underwear follows quickly after. They are tossed in the same general direction as the socks and shoes, and again, Rosinante doesn’t care about where they land. That can be an issue for tomorrow’s Rosinante to handle, but tonight… Tonight is for Rosinante to relax, to handle himself and his needs in the most primitive way possible. And dammit, that sounds so nice that it draws a pleased hum from somewhere deep in the marine’s chest.

At long last, Rosinante is free of his clothes, his cock already hard and jutting desperately from between his legs, an animal seeking attention. The tip of his length is red, darker than the rouge that drips across Rosinante’s cheeks and the tips of his ears like paint, and his cock throbs with an aching need for physical touch. 

With bated breath, Rosinante reaches down and allows his index finger to gently brush over the throbbing head of his cock. The light touch sends a jolt of lightning-pleasure through Rosinante’s body and he can’t help but let out a shaky moan from the heat of his own touch. He draws his lower lip between his teeth as he allows the tip of his finger to brush over his slit, revelling in the way it makes him shiver. “Mm-!” A low, pretty noise pushes up from deep in his chest and his back arches. “Hah…”

The heat in Rosinante’s lower abdomen is growing exponentially with every second and every touch, and he can’t wait anymore. He reluctantly pulls his hand away from his member, which protest with a pathetically desperate throbbing and twitching and draws a whine from Rosinante’s throat. “Hn- Shit...” He swears softly as he slowly moves to rest one knee on the edge of the bed. Slowly, he pushes himself onto his mattress, kneeling at the foot of his bed. He draws in a shaking breath before letting it out slowly, a low whimper escaping on his exhale. His chest rises and falls with his breathing, and his pupils dilate as he bites his soft lower lip. Rosinante’s mind is going foggy with lust, his thoughts scattering like ships on stormy seas. He needs to pleasure himself, but how should he do it?

What catches Rosinante’s attention - his barely there attention - first is the pillows set nicely at the top of his bed, and he doesn’t have the sort of attention span to notice anything else. He vaguely remembers how many times his hand hasn’t been enough for him and he’s resorted to using his pillows as a partner. He remembers calling a name, over and over again, as his hips pushed against the too soft, too pliant surface. He remembers that it’s a viable option, and fuck, but that’s all he needs.

Without another thought, Rosinante leans forward and takes hold of one of the pillows - the closest one to him - in an overly-tight grasp and draws it to him in a jerky movement. His breath quickens and his cock twitches as he looks down at the pillow and its navy blue cover, hoping that this will provide enough pleasure to bring him to a wonderful, long-awaited climax.

However, Rosinante knows that he can hope with all of his soul and mind and being, but this pillow will never be a lover, will never be the one whose name he pants so desperately. But dammit, can’t he just allow himself to dream? Can’t he just allow himself to picture a body beneath his own, a body belonging to someone who has long since been the center of Rosinante’s fantasies? 

He can practically feel their lube-slick heat around them, their far-too-clever mouth on Rosinante’s, their hands tangled in his hair and gently tugging. “Ngh…” Rosinante pants softly as his fantasy lover comes alive behind his eyes and in his mind. They’re so beautiful, so damn attractive, and Rosinante can’t restrain himself from bucking his hips up into the softness of his pillow.

The dark red tip of his member barely brushes against the dark fabric, an entrancing contrast. But that barely-there touch isn’t nearly enough. It’s a teasing hint of what Rosinante’s night is going to be like, and he feels a strange sort of excitement bubble up in his chest like boiling water. It fills his body and pumps through his veins, wild currents driving his hips to buck forward again. The pillow still isn’t close enough, is still just far enough that the only reward himself with a faint brush of his throbbing cock against the pliant cushion. “O-_ Oh shit…” _ He mumbles as he feels another strong, intoxicating wave of lust wash over his already desire-weak body and mind.

Rosinante can’t take it anymore, his resolve to maintain the dregs of his dignity draining out of his body with a moan. He pulls the pillow close, closer, as close as a partner. He lets the cushion fully press against his body, its soft surface engulfing his member and putting a delightful pressure on his cock. “H-Hah…” He lets out a breathy noise, a mix between a moan and a sigh, as he feels the softness that’s putting the much needed pressure on his cock.

He has to take a few deep breaths to calm himself, to try and steady his rapidly beating heart and his spinning mind. The breaths come out as shallow pants, his tongue darting across his lower lip to accompany the sound. Rosinante’s hair falls in his face as his head falls forward, his eyes falling closed as his fantasy partner comes alive behind his eyes. He can picture the weight of their legs around his own hips, can see the rise and fall of their chest with their breathing, can all but feel their heat around his cock. He can feel their hands scratching up his back as they tell him in their lovely, lust-filled voice to start moving. 

So he does. 

Rosinante begins to slowly grind his hips against the pillow, the low noises falling from his lips only growing louder as his sensitive cock rubs against the cushion. His hands are tight on the edges of the pillow as he slowly begins to fuck it as best he can. He starts with slow, steady motions that send waves of pleasure crashing over his entire body, heat sparking along his entire nervous system.

The image of his fantasy lover in his mind moans so prettily, their lips shiny from the kisses they share so kindly with Rosinante. Their hands drift up from his back to tangle into Rosinante’s hair, a breathless smile on their lips, before they drag him down into another beautifully messy kiss that even the imagining of has a moan falling from Rosinante’s lips.

The slow movements against the pillow are perfect, are so much better than Rosinante had even dared to hope. “Hah, sh-shit, _ g-good,” _ He moans softly as his hips buck out of rhythm, seeking to gain more friction through more speed. He tries to get back into the same pattern of movement that he’d been in before the stuttering of movement, but it doesn’t work; he’s already felt how much better it feels to go faster. Upon realizing this, Rosinante sets a faster pace, one that will satisfy the beast that is his arousal. His cock is twitching excitedly and leaking precum over the dark fabric, leaving it slick and wet and easier to fuck.

The faster pace serves him well, bringing him closer to his climax at a fast pace as he pants his fantasy lover’s name. He doesn’t last long, due to how long it’s been since he’s been able to touch himself like this. He cums with a loud cry of his romantic interest’s name on his lips, thick ropes of seed covering his pillow. The dark of the pillow cover contrasts greatly with Rosinante’s cum, though the marine doesn’t notice as he finally allows himself to collapse on his bed, relaxing as his mind clears and he begins to settle into sleep.

Tomorrow… He’d tell them tomorrow.


End file.
